No reckoning made, but sent to my account with all my imperfections on my head.

I'll make my heaven in a lady's lap

Demand me nothing: what you know, you know.

There's nothing in this world can make me joy.

And by that destiny to perform an act Whereof what's past is prologue, what to come In yours and my discharge.

To die: - to sleep: No more; and, by a sleep to say we end The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks That flesh is heir to, 'tis a consummation Devoutly to be wished.

Why, there's a wench! Come on, and kiss me, Kate.